Work Text:
Only a minute or so ago, Jake had appeared here, in the derelict fields of Coldwind Farm. He was wandering the trial grounds now, looking for a generator or some other objective. Maybe even the killer itself; whichever happened first. He’d seen one generator already, right where he appeared, but it was one of those generators nestled in the corner. Those were best saved for last if one could help it, so he’d slipped off into the rows of dry corn to look for the giant, flickering floodlights that signaled a way out.
Coldwind, despite its name, was anything but—now, at least. In the past, it had been cold, crisp night, with a breeze that would cut through anyone’s clothes. The Entity, though, had the bright idea to add a fake sun and all the heat of a summer’s afternoon. The heat was now dry and oppressive, uncomfortable, especially for survivors like Jake that wore several warm layers. Add that on to running for your life and working on generators heated by the sun, and it could be downright miserable.
Jake rolled up his sleeves as he neared a wooden structure. He could see the lights over the top of the mazelike structure, but as he got nearer, his focus shifted from the generator to the heartbeat slowly beginning to hammer in his ears. The killer was nearby, then. He grimaced slightly. Ok, that was fine. He might as well have a look and see who they were up against. From there, he could either get their attention or see about warning the rest of the unfortunate souls stuck here with him. The former, though, was much more likely.
As Jake neared the structure, he could see the heat, and that was strange. The only realm he could ever see waves like this was the Saloon on a day the Entity was feeling particularly cruel. Heat wave in the realm, huh? he thought. Entity’s feeling creative again. Love that.
“This is ridiculous,” Jake said to himself, a mutter beneath his breath. He reached up to shrug off his gray sheepskin jacket, dropping it to the ground near the wall. He wasn’t particularly worried about losing it. It always came back at the end, and faster if he died. It was something the Entity had always done, and considering how frequently clothes got ruined by weapons, blood and to be used as impromptu bandages, that much was nice. Still wearing the hoodie and everything beneath it, still plenty overdressed for the heat, but without the fur jacket it was bearable.
The heartbeat was thundering in his ears at this point, and he crept along the wall, guard up and half expecting a weapon to swing around the corner and nail him in the face. Nothing happened, though, and he couldn’t hear anything unusual. Jake peered around the corner, saw a person, and instinctively and instantly jerked back into hiding, until his brain caught up with what he’d seen.
That had been Dwight, no doubt about it. And not just—Dwight, but one of the three he was somewhat familiar with. The one called Pizza, specifically; he could recognize that dumb red shirt and matching hat anywhere. However, what did not feel right was the fact that he’d caught a glimpse of Dwight ‘Pizza’ Fairfield standing, back turned, in the smack middle of a terror radius. Not hiding, not running, not dead, just standing there with no killer in sight.
What the fuck?
Made a little more bold by the fact that he was ninety percent sure the person he’d seen was Pizza, and much more confused because he was ninety percent sure the person he’d seen was Pizza, Jake turned the corner again to get a better look. The person—yeah, definitely Dwight, definitely Pizza, same red shirt and brown slacks—was still faced away.
Jake opened his mouth, but made the wise decision not to call out to him. There was only the slightest shift in the man’s posture, to look up and away from something in his hand that he’d been studying, for Jake to realize something was terribly wrong.
Pizza’s arms were covered in nasty, deep burns, the kind that left nerves raw to the air. They marred his skin all the way up to his sleeves, but he hardly seemed bothered by them at all. No nervousness, no crying. Jake couldn’t see his expression from the angle he was at, but he knew what pain looked like without seeing someone’s face, and Pizza wasn’t showing any of it.
What the fuck?
Pizza’s shoulders tensed and his weight shifted, a split second of motion that Jake noticed. Instinct took over, and he hid again. He heard the sound of movement in the dirt, a scratching noise, soft and barely audible over the heartbeat. Jake was sure he’d been seen, but he pressed his spine against the dry wood anyway. Normally, he wouldn’t mind getting the killer’s attention and running away with a smug grin and rude gesture—but then again, normally the person he was running from wasn’t a familiar face.
Dwight stepped past him, maybe a foot away, walking with a purpose towards some noise he could hear but Jake could not. As he passed, Jake realized the heat that buffeted the air was originating from him. The man brushing by had felt like he was standing too close to the bonfire. It made sweat bead on Jake’s forehead and the air burned the inside of his lungs. He held his breath, still and making no move to let the person know he’d missed a survivor within arm’s reach. Jake waited for Pizza to disappear into the corn, but the man stopped. He turned his head, just slightly, and looked at the ground.
Jake followed his gaze to his discarded jacket. Shit, he thought. Shit. He watched as Dwight reached for the jacket. He picked it up, and Jake watched the fabric blackened and shriveled away, smoking wafting away from it. Jake could see Dwight’s other hand, too. He was holding something—a kitchen implement, a pizza cutter, reflecting the light. It might have been comical if it had been someone else.
Pizza dropped the jacket, and looked behind him. He and Jake made eye contact. Pizza’s pupils were glowing white, reflecting like a cat’s even in the daylight.
“Hi,” Pizza said with a smile.
“Fuck,” Jake hissed, backing away.
What the fuck happened to you?